


Rewrite the Stars

by the_stargazing_dreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Also sort of not Ward friendly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, It’s a one shot but a long one shot, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, Or Is It?, POV Jemma Simmons, Season 7 Spoilers, Sort of not Fitz friendly, Unreliable Narrator, series finale spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_stargazing_dreamer/pseuds/the_stargazing_dreamer
Summary: Her brain feels like it’s being gripped in some sort of vice and nothing makes sense.She feels like her mind is warring with itself.  There are glimpses of moments, people, events but she doesn’t know who they are and she can’t make anything out. It’s all blurred together and she presses a hand to her eyes with a whimper.It’s like her mind is trying to find a connection.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Rewrite the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> First, let me say, I’m really happy with how the show ended but I love to play! But I’m ... going to be honest... this is probably the strangest thing I’ve written and I know it probably won’t sit with everyone. It’s supposed to be confusing and muddled and you are welcome to decide what is fact and fiction within the story. 
> 
> The title comes from the song “Rewrite the Stars” from The Greatest Showman, which is admittedly not as creepy as this one shot is. It’s also the title of the song. If you haven’t heard it, these are the two lines I thought of: “what if we rewrite the stars / say you were made to be mine”
> 
> There’s also a throwaway line about ship names that was from a convention Q&A video with Brett and Elizabeth.

She wakes up in a cold sweat with her heart pounding.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep. Had she been knocked unconscious?

Her head is pulsating and she remains frozen on the mattress as she tries to organize her thoughts.

But it won’t happen.

Her brain feels like it’s being gripped in some sort of vice and nothing makes sense.

She feels like her mind is warring with itself. There are glimpses of moments, people, events but she doesn’t know who they are and she can’t make anything out. It’s all blurred together and she presses a hand to her eyes with a whimper.

It’s like her mind is trying to find a connection.

_An open concept living room, ocean blue walls, a brick fireplace, a pistol on the coffee table._

She blinks.

_A similar type of pistol now in someone’s hands ( **hers?** ) in a hallway with grays and metals, a burst of blue, and someone collapsing._

She blinks.

_A different person collapsing, overwhelmed by whatever they just experienced. They’re in a church? Some sort of staff rolls away from their limp grasp._

She blinks.

_A different hand, limp and drenched in blood. This person will die and there’s an overwhelming sense of dread and had the person always been so frail? A flowery top._

She blinks.

_A row of dresses, giggling over glasses of champagne as a flowery monstrosity is immediately vetoed._

None of it makes sense and the glimpses continue, flashing through her mind without any rhyme or reason. She doesn’t know who they are and what these visions ( _ **memories?**_ ) are but there’s no apparent correlation.

She forces herself to sit up and examines her surroundings. Some sort of bedroom and there’s a low humming noise that reminds her of an airplane. It’s a small area but something is familiar about it.

She touches the green bedspread softly and spots a small Curious George doll stuck in the corner of the bed.

She grimaces as a sharp pain jabs at her temple.

_Monkey faces on a bedroom wall. The other person in the room is nervous. A dark hoodie._

She blinks.

_The hoodie hangs on a small rack in a different bedroom, this was older and more rustic. Brick walls and small spaces, just as uniformed though. A poster on the one wall, a list of constellations._

She blinks.

_Real constellations, up close, from the view of some sort of cockpit. A warm smile from the person in the next seat._

She blinks.

_A different smile. A different person. Holding a small bundle in large arms in that living room._

She blinks.

_Another bundle, this one in a different blanket, in a darker area and different arms. Not very home like but it was home._

She stands up from the bed and the room spins around her. She grips the top of a chair next to her at a small desk and inhales a few deep breaths. She slowly lets go and takes three steps towards the door. It slides open automatically and she steps into a hallway.

She doesn’t know where she is but somehow she knows where to go. Voices are getting louder as she continues down the hall. She doesn’t recognize any of them.

“I don’t give a fuck!” One man shouts and there’s a loud bang.

“Look, you need to calm down.” Another man says, this tone more soothing. “Acting like this isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Are you kidding me? What the fuck do you want me to do? Just accept that this psychopath fucked with my wife and my daughter? How do we fix this? How do we fix her? Why is she worse?”

“It’s not like there’s research on this sort of thing.” A third man speaks, stuttering and stumbling over his words. There’s another clatter and scuffling.

She slowly steps around a wall and finds herself staring into some sort of open area. A cockpit? No cockpits were smaller. This was like some sort of control room.

There are several people surrounding some sort of table. Four men, two women.

A horrible sinking feeling settles into her stomach.

These people took her.

_From where? From what?_

She starts to step back, to run and hide, but she hits into the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. The noise catches all their attention and she curls inward, like that would do something.

“Jemma,” the first man speaks and the way he says the name makes her frown. Is that her name? It must be. He’s clearly addressing her. All the anger and desperation in his voice is gone. It’s soft and careful and loving. 

She’s still considering his tone as he approaches her slowly.

“No.” She backs up, suddenly fearful but why would she be fearful when he’s looking at her like that?

“It’s okay.” He stops in his tracks and holds up his hands, to show he means no harm. Her eyes find a ring on his left hand.

She blinks.

_A jewelry store, examining different velvet squares with a variety of bands on each. Picking one up, a familiar weight._

She blinks.

_That ring, sliding onto a finger. Waves crashing around them._

She blinks.

_A different ring. A different finger. A forest with soft chirping._

She blinks.

_A beach again, laughter and cheers, and hands on her face. Hands that are rough and calloused but still so gentle and she looks up into a blurry face._

_A forest again, quieter but still happiness, and different hands on her face, smoother and smaller, tilting her face up and that face is blurry too._

“Oh God, what is happening?” She whimpers as a stabbing pain shoots through her head. It’s almost like a flip book, both scenes are rapidly flickering back and forth. These are different people but is it her in both?

She crumples to the floor. Both faces are shimmering in front of her and she doesn’t understand. Still blurry but some defining parts. One dark, one light. A black eye on one, stitches on the other. Brown eyes, blue eyes.

“Hey,” she feels hands on her. One on her shoulder, one on her face and why does it feel so familiar? “Jemma, look at me.”

She lets out a sob but forces her eyes open to lock on his. Pained, desperate eyes but still so much love. He smiles weakly and the hand on her shoulder squeezes gently.

“I know it doesn’t make sense right now. You just have to give your brain time to settle. That’s all.”

There’s a noise from behind him, a disagreement of sorts. She doesn’t know why.

She stares at him, at the way he looks at her, at the rough but gentle touch of his hand.

He was the one who mentioned a wife.

“Are we married?” She asks slowly. It’s his turn to blink at her. Something in his face changes and he tries hard to hide it.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, hesitantly, like he doesn’t want the wrong answer.

She glances off to the side, thinking or trying to think at least.

“I’m supposed to, aren’t I?”

There’s something there. A burst of flickers, the face not clear but visions scattered throughout time.

_Cold air whipping around her as she felt like she was falling, strong arms grasping her middle. Surprisingly soft lips on hers as water lapped around them. That ocean blue living room, with a fireplace crackling, no other source of light, the heat on her naked body as the same lips worked down her torso, stubble scraping along the same path._

Her hand reaches out and touches his face gently, fingers trailing over his lower lip.

But just like that, it’s gone.

_It’s replaced with cool metal and dark colors and open space, cold and vast and billions of stars with no other light. Slimmer arms, different lips, bruising and possessive but loving all the same._

“I don’t know what’s happening.” She admits tearfully. He swallows and nods, takes her hand and squeezes carefully. “Did you take me?”

“Take you where?”

“From…” she struggles to remember, “from where I was?”

“Yes. Jemma, you’ve,”

“I don’t think that’s necessary right now.” One of the other men say.

“She needs to know.”

“We need to give it to her slowly. She’s on information overload right now.” He says and the man in front of her closes his eyes in despair. When he opens them again, he looks resigned to his current fate.

“It was a rescue mission. We’re here to help you.” He says quietly. He helps her to her feet and walks her to a chair. She sits stiffly against the back and stares at the faces watching her.

“Jemma,” one of the older men approach her carefully and sits at the end of the row, “my name is Phil. Do you recognize me?”

She studies him carefully.

_A white conference room, a job offer. Jogging on a treadmill, wrong choice of words._

_The forest, loving words. A different plane, a sad goodbye._

“It’s okay if you don’t.” He continues when she doesn’t answer. “I’m sure you’re confused. Can you tell me what you’re experiencing at the moment?”

“I don’t know. I… I keep seeing things but they’re not sharp. It’s blurry and it jumps. The scenes don’t match up. I know there are people but I don’t know who they are.”

“Makes sense.” The third man mutters. He sips carefully out of a flask, which he puts away at Phil’s scolding look. ”Give her something easy to focus on.”

“I run an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. Do you know what it stands for?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.” She frowns as she spiels the name. “Why do I know that?”

“Because you are one of my top agents. You’re my biochemist. The best in your field.”

“I’m engineering. She’s biochem.” She mumbles.

“What’s that?”

“Do you have an engineer?”

“Mack was an engineer once upon a time but he’s more of a field agent these days.” Phil points over her shoulder but she doesn’t turn. “This is some of the rest of the team. Anyone seem familiar to you? They’ll come over one at a time so you’re not overwhelmed. Well, we’ll start with Davis first. He’s over there at the wheel or on the stick.”

The man further up turns to give a wave. She realizes they’re on a plane.

_The cockpit, open space, endless skies._

_Neon puffs. A casino. Driving to a site. Prepping for a fight._

“This is one of our consultants, Dr. Radcliffe.”

The man with the flask tips his head in a kind nod.

_A bird’s eye. A syringe._

“This is Daisy.”

_Computers. Late nights in a bunk. Earthquakes._

“Ah, something is happening.” Davis says suddenly. There is a high pitched noise and then the screens around them change from maps and trajectories to a man with a cold gaze.

“I thought you said you shot him.” The unnamed woman states.

“Yeah, four times.” Daisy spits out.

“Well, next time, maybe you should check.” The man on the screens says. He touches his hair gently, sweeping it across his forehead and accentuating the side part.

“Well enjoy your days you piece of shit because they’re fucking numbered.” The man ( _ **her husband?**_ ) steps in front of her and growls at the screen.

“Daisy,” Phil’s voice is low but commanding.

“Already working on it.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do. I’m going to know where you are. The only reason why I haven’t blown you out of the sky is you have two very important people on board.” His accent seems to get thicker as he gets angrier. “Jemma, you don’t have to worry. Whatever they’re telling you is false. You and Alya will be safe. I promise.”

“Her name isn’t fucking Alya!”

Alya.

_A star. Slow rotation. A time machine. A little girl, bright blonde hair, science experiments. Running through metal and empty rooms._

_A different little girl, brown curls, tea parties. Princess décor and days at the beach._

But the same?

“That should keep him out for now.” Daisy announces as the screens cut back to their normal displays. The man in front of her is tense and his hands are balled into tight fists.

“Jem,” He turns and kneels down in front of her.

“Who was that?” She feels like something right has wrapped itself around her chest and she can hardly breathe.

“His name is Leopold Fitz.” Phil explains. “He was a student at our Academy with you. He chose not to remain with S.H.I.E.L.D. after graduation. He had his own private company and due to various successes, we consulted with him on different occasions. It… became evident after a time that he had different goals than we did and we cut ties with him.”

“He knows me.” She whispers. The cold gaze is stuck with her and it flickers to a warm, loving grin.

“You went to school together. That’s all. He’s just some sick fuck.” The man ( _ **her husband?**_ ) insists. His hands are back on her, stroking her hair softly.

“Grant,” Phil sighs at his tone. She focuses on his face. Grant. _Grant_. The devastated expression there, mixed with love. It flickers and she sees him grinning coldly at her as he brandishes a knife.

She recoils back from him and he drops his hands, looking wounded by her rejection.

“Ward, can you come to the bunks?” A woman’s voice crackles over an intercom. He hangs his head but pushes himself to his feet.

“On my way.” He says and the room remains silent until he’s gone.

“None of this makes any sense.” Jemma whispers.

“It’s important that we take this one step at a time.” Radcliffe says. “I’m sure your mind feels like it’s ripping at the seams right now. It’s got two lifetimes of details stuffed in there. It doesn’t know what to do with it all, which is likely why it’s all muddled and jumbled up. I’m told you were unconscious when they extracted you. They believed you had been given some sort of sedative. From what I know of the Fitz men, they’re diabolical. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sedative has other purposes. Jemma, do you mind if I look at your neck?”

“Why?”

“Small theory that I have.” He approaches her slowly and twirls his finger, mimicking for her to turn. She does and feels him brush her hair aside. “Mm, yes. Just as I suspected. Same situation. Though the question is why the double effort?”

“Do you think if that’s resolved, it will correct this?” Phil asks and Jemma frowns.

“It’s possible. Both on their own are dangerous experiments, especially when time is factored in. I don’t know what sort of… side effects there will be.”

“Please just tell me what’s going on.” She pleads. ”I don’t understand. I want to understand.”

Phil looks over her shoulder, likely at Radcliffe, as though they’re having a silent discussion.

“It’s not gone. We just need a way to retrieve it. Isn’t that your speciality?”

“Hardly. Though I suppose I could find a way to upgrade portions. We have the scans for the LMDs. The brain is like a computer. Maybe we can reboot and reload the software. But it’s older, would be missing some key points.”

“Please don’t hurt me.” She feels a sob bubble up, as she recalls Fitz’s words to not believe them.

But why should she believe him either?

“We would never.” Phil promises. He moves a few seats closer and pats her knee gently. “Jemma, we’ve been looking for you for about six months. You went missing after a New Year’s Eve party at Stark Tower in Manhattan.”

“Why would I be at Stark Tower?”

“We work closely with the Avengers. Grant was on an assignment at the time. You were staying at the Plaza Hotel with your parents and… and your daughter.”

_Blonde hair, blue eyes, a light lilt to her voice. Climbing around a spaceship._

_Brown hair, brown eyes, a rambling, bubbly tone. Racing down brick hallways and hiding under desks._

But the same?

“Charlotte.” She says softly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s right. Her name is Charlotte.”

“Or Alya.” She frowns and closes her eyes. The same but different. 

“Fitz’s claim to fame is something called the Framework. We were given a smaller scale for training purposes before we ended our relationship with him. We believe that he has a large scale version that he was using for himself. In our Framework, we can run a limited number of scenarios. It’s only fair to assume he had a greater capability.”

“What does it do?”

“It’s essentially a virtual reality. We can control what runs, for how long, when it ends. It’s a risky endeavor. If you spend too long in there, it could have serious impacts on the person.”

“Like messing up their memories.”

“Correct. In our Framework, the subjects are participants. They are aware of their place in the reality and know it is only a simulation. If you were put into the Framework against your will, you would never have been aware of it.”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re mistaken. The Leopold Fitz I know would never.” She jumps to her feet with a sob. Why did she say that? “How do I know this isn’t your Framework? How can I trust any of you?”

“There’s a device loaded into your neck.” Radcliffe says. “If my assumption is correct, and I believe it is, the device is inhibiting your correct memories. This occurred with Charlotte.”

Charlotte.

_Brown curls, brown eyes, colic, sleepless nights, cuddled in strong arms._

“Once the device was removed, she was her normal self.” Phil explains. “She wasn’t able to explain much but she mentioned you slept a lot but there were times you were awake. When we found you, you were hooked up to a device. I think he would periodically place you into the Framework and his methods varied. I don’t think he placed Charlotte inside the Framework. He manipulated her through the inhibitor.” 

“But why go through all of that? What was the point?”

“We don’t know. From what we recall over the years, you had minimal interactions with him. Does anything stand out?”

She stares at the screen across from her.

_She remembers the Academy, having friends for the first time, top of her class. A shadow lurking in the distance._

_No, she had one friend in the Academy. The room with the monkey faces drawn everywhere. The anxious boy in the dark hoodie._

“Jemma?” Phil prompts her gently and she blinks, then looks at him.

_Meeting in a conference room at the Triskelion; impressed with the great Jemma Simmons._

_No, there had been someone else there. Confusion that it was two people, not one._

“Fitzsimmons.” She whispers, then shakes her head.

_Someone sprawled on a hotel bed. Giggling over relationships._

“Would it be Sward or Wimmons?” She whispers and Daisy looks up, eyes wide at the statement.

“Grant likes Sward.” She finally cracks a smile. “Because you’re in S.H.I.E.L.D. and a sword? He’s horrible with puns.”

“How am I supposed to know?” Jemma curls her hands into her hair and hunches over her lap. Two sides struggling to take control.

“We’ll get the inhibitor out. We’ll take it one step at a time.” Phil promises.

* * *

“Hi,”

She looks up from her tea and finds Grant standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Hi,” She slides further into the bench but he doesn’t move to join her.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Things are a little clearer. I know who the people are. Everything is still jumbled up.”

“That’s an improvement.”

“It is.” She takes a sip of her drink, then sets the mug on the table. The problem was the same people existed in both. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure. We’re safer in the air at the moment. Coulson has Cap and Stark on the hunt for Fitz. He was at the location where we found you but he’s gone.”

She’s not sure how she feels about that. Relief that this madman will be found. Terror that her lover will be hurt.

But he’s not. Not really.

**Or was he?**

No. He hadn’t looked at her with any sense of love when he hacked the plane. It was possession, of wanting what was his back.

Grant has. But then the Grant of the Framework never looked at her like this, how Fitz did.

She blinks.

Grant is still in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. She smiles softly at the familiar expression and taps the cushioned seat.

“I don’t bite.”

“I don’t… want to overwhelm you.”

“You saved me.”

“Here? Plenty of times. In there…” he flashes a sad smile and shrugs. ”I saw how you looked at me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m not a genius but I figured out pretty quickly that he made me the villain of his story. It probably doesn’t count for much but whatever he did in there, I’m sorry. I would never hurt you.”

She’s silent for a moment, watching him carefully, but she doesn’t acknowledge his statement.

What if this was the Framework? What if he had made Fitz the villain of his story?

“Where’s Charlotte?”

“With Daisy. She keeps asking for you. I’m trying to hold her off as long as possible.”

“You don’t have to.” Charlotte and Alya rotate effortlessly through her mind.

She knows she has one daughter. But she feels like there’s two. Two different personalities but still so similar. One all Grant and one all Fitz but both showing pieces of herself and that makes them look like one.

Phil said the Framework was made up of avatars, created for people’s minds to slip into. That _‘Alya’_ must have been Fitz’s creation, to slot Charlotte in for his own ready-made child.

But couldn’t _‘Charlotte’_ be an avatar for Alya?

Which one was simply coding? 

“How is she?”

“Completely unfazed by it all.” He sighs and sits on the edge of the bench. He rubs his hand over his eye and she notices how exhausted he seems. She doesn’t know how long it had been since they came for her. “I’ve never felt so fucking helpless. She just cried the whole way back here, that she wanted her daddy. It was like she was looking right through me. I kept telling her it was me but it didn’t matter. Not until they pulled that thing out of her head. Then it was like she was never gone. Daisy looked over it. It basically blocked me from her memories and he had some way of inserting himself there.”

“Daddy!” The repeated call gets louder as it gets closer.

“Incoming.” He grins as a flash of purple slides into kitchen. Charlotte pounces on him and buries herself into his chest. “How did you sneak away from Daisy?”

“I was very quiet.” She whispers.

“You didn’t sound very quiet just now.” He comments and she lifts her head. They share identical grins and Jemma feels breathless.

“Hi Mommy,” she turns her head in her direction and lays herself on Grant’s shoulder. The girl is practically vibrating with energy but his arms lock her into place, keeping her from climbing onto her.

“Hi Charlie.”

“Daddy said you don’t feel good.”

“My head hurts a bit.”

“Mine did too.”

“Is it all better?”

“Mm,” she nods and Jemma reaches out to brush her hair off her face. Thick, brown curls that remind her of her own childhood. She feels so warm and soft.

But so had Alya with her chubby cheeks and fine, blonde strands.

“I got a Captain America bandaid.” Charlotte says. She gestures towards her neck and Jemma carefully lifts the mass of hair to see gauze held into place by several bandaids. Hardly the best way to pack a dressing but she’s sure the girl voiced her own demands.

“We match. I didn’t get any cool bandaids though.” Jemma turns her own head for Charlotte to inspect. “I think I could use one of your famous hugs right now my love.”

“Easy.” Grant warns as she scrambles across the bench. “You don’t have to Hulk Smash Mommy.”

Charlotte restrains herself but her arms are tight around Jemma’s torso. She feels tears fill her eyes as she holds the girl and buries her face in her hair.

This is her daughter.

Her loud, opinionated daughter.

Born July 29, the hottest day of the year, in a Santa Monica hospital with Grant and Daisy by her side. Hours of endless pain that had been all worth it in the end.

Prone to temper tantrums and loved Disney and smart, but not scary genius level as Grant liked to call it.

Absolutely perfect, including her flaws. Flaws any normal human should have.

Alya was ( _ **is?**_ ) too easy. An easy birth in the cold, sterile lab on the Zephyr with Fitz and Enoch. Was there a date? December 4, by their Earth calendar but Theta Serpentis rotated so slowly that time was different. And a time machine back to a year when Alya wasn’t born would only complicate things further.

She remembers pain but it had been manageable and how could it have been manageable out in space with no traditional supplies? A quick birth too, over before she really could grasp it.

A calm, quiet baby who only cried when she needed something.

Who grew up too fast and was too smart and too agreeable. Too perfect. But was wonderful and loving and the joy of her life. Just ... too perfect. And not just in the sense that parents think their children are the best but scarily perfect, as though she had been designed that way.

Charlotte had been endless nights of colic. Grant was a quiet strength, ready to take on whatever she asked and whatever she didn’t.

Alya slept through the night almost immediately. Fitz teasing they had to force her awake for her feedings.

“Are you okay Mommy?” Charlotte touches her face gently when she sees her crying.

“I’m okay darling.” She brushes back her bangs and kisses her forehead.

There’s a stabbing ache as she holds her daughter. Pieces of her life float through her mind and she realizes suddenly that she missed her. It had felt like years since she had seen her.

But she sees Alya when she closes her eyes and she wasn’t real ( _ **right?**_ ) but the ache is just as terrible.

* * *

She’s still awake when Grant enters their bunk hours later. Endless briefings, an appearance from some of the Avengers. She had given up when her head started hurting again. 

Fitz was in the deepest cell of the Fridge. A mad man finally under control. The Doctor, as he liked to call himself, unable to harm anyone anymore. He had hurt plenty of others, tortured people, long before he had gotten his hands on her.

“I still don’t think I know what’s real.” She whispers as he slides into bed.

“It’s okay.”

She had been so sure but doubt quickly refilled her mind.

Alya was too perfect, without conflict, and life should have had conflict. But when she thought about it, their lives were filled with conflict. Robots and demons and broken planets. Too much strife and who had been there to save her from it all? Fitz.

 _Fitz_ \- who made sure to get her out the bottom of the Atlantic over himself.

 _Fitz_ \- who dove through a hole in the universe to find her.

 _Fitz_ \- who spent years in a cryogenic pod to save her from a dystopian future.

“We never went to space.” She says firmly. He shakes his head. “And time travel doesn’t exist.”

“No. We see weird stuff but it’s our normal weird.”

They had conflict but a normal amount of conflict. He was slowly retiring from the field and she was the head of the science division at the Playground.

She had never been kidnapped, never been tortured. At least not before now.

She hadn’t always been in the Framework, from what Fitz had told Captain Rogers. But the sedatives he gave her blurred the lines enough to keep her calm and complacent. Until it didn’t so he would start again. New simulations, new stories, to show how much he cared and how he would sacrifice for her. She and Charlotte were his do-overs. An instant fix to his regret of never speaking up, of going away, of not being with her. Stories he designed to make him the hero and worthy.

And what about the Grant Ward of the Framework? The man who dropped her out of a plane, who tortured her for information, who held a gun to her head, who had tormented their team for years and betrayed them?

Both had shown horrible sides of themselves. And yet she couldn’t reconcile either of their evils to the men she knew, the men she… loved.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. He turns to hold her as she cries. She has a lifetime of memories with him. From the moment he stepped onto the Bus, to their first kiss in the frigid Atlantic when he saved her life, birthdays and holidays and late nights and a beachside wedding and their baby, all the way up to his good-bye the day after Christmas. The last time she had seen him, this version of him, until today.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

But she did. She committed her heart and soul to this man but now there’s another and she has just as many memories with him.

She thinks that at some point, one would have to give. One is going to have a flaw, a glitch that her brain will catch, to say this is fake, this is inorganic, this was planted.

Because it was planted. A history was given to her. She didn’t live a decade in the Framework. It had only been six months and only into the simulations Fitz planned.

Or was this history planted?

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“Oh, I’m past that point.” She sounds hysterical and he shushes her softly, comfortingly.

“Listen to me. You are okay. You’re safe here. You have all the time to unravel what’s going on up here.” He strokes her temple gently with rough, gentle fingers and she leans into his touch. “Just go with the flow baby. Whatever you feel is okay. We’re going to work through this together. It’s going to start making sense.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it already started to and you know that. You’re hurt Jemma. You need to give yourself time to heal.” He swallows and pauses. “Is it so bad here?”

“Of course not.” She immediately responds and did she answer too quickly? It wasn’t bad here at all. She had him and Charlotte and the team who became her family.

“Then hold onto that for now.”

“How do you know you’re alive? That you’re real?” She thinks of basic human biology. Heart rate, blood flow, body temperature. The Framework had all that too. How is she suppose to spot the difference?

“I… I don’t know. You just… are.” Grant shrugs and she knows he’s trying to stay collected but he looks freaked out.

“Will you kiss me?” She asks softly. It was ridiculous. He blinks but nods. He hadn’t kissed her since she woke up. Maybe he needs to. Perhaps she’s watched Snow White too many times with Charlotte.

_Snow White. Dwarves. Little drones zooming about._

She sighs when he kisses her. She knows those lips.

_The surprisingly soft lips in the middle of the Atlantic, stolen kisses in the bowels of the Bus, the elated kisses when they were pronounced husband and wife, those reverent, burning kisses in front of their fireplace the night Charlotte was conceived, and thousands, maybe millions of others._

“I would never hurt you.” He murmurs when they pull back. “You know deep down that that was not me.”

But she also lived a world where Fitz had never hurt her either. But his kisses… they were different. Loving but underneath, desperate and hard, like he _needed_ her to enjoy it. Afraid to lose her, nervous, cursed.

But how does she know they didn’t give her something to blur those memories. Why would Fitz …

“Oh,” she breathes out softly. Not quite right kisses, too perfect babies. We’re these the glitches she was looking for?

She has all her memories. They’re just not in order. She shouldn’t have gaps of time but there are gaps of time.

“When I was out of the Framework.” She whispers. Grant frowns over her, his fingers still steadily moving over her forehead and temple.

“What?”

“He said he didn’t keep me in the Framework all the time. He did something during those times.”

“After you left the briefing, Cap said he mentioned something wasn’t right with your inhibitor. The one he gave Charlie was a newer, improved model. Yours was giving him problems. You were remembering things you shouldn’t have and you were having trouble focusing on what he was trying to give you. He thought a realignment would fix it but it didn’t and he knew if he took it out that you would remember completely and would likely fight him. Maybe you’re subconsciously blocking that. Charlie said you were awake at points so you weren’t always sedated, unless he drugged you somehow else. Jemma, he wanted complete control over you.”

_Needy, desperate kisses. The hero swooping in at the perfect time. The perfect life, the perfect child._

“To make me compliant.”

“Yeah.”

It makes sense. It _has_ to make sense.

“But how do I know you’re not doing the exact same thing?”

“We’re not. I promise you we’re not. Jem, none of us would be capable of creating something like that. And what purpose would it serve if we could?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because there isn’t any.”

Perhaps not. The biggest difference she could find between the two was Grant and Fitz. The team was mostly the same, save for some slight differences.

Fitz hadn’t hid Grant. He only hid their relationship and turned him to a monster.

And Grant couldn’t create a virtual reality. He could barely turn on the holotable by himself. And if someone on the team could, they weren’t hiding any details about Fitz or their Framework life.

Could a Framework exist within another Framework?

“Jem, hey,” Grant’s thumb smooths over the sudden furrow in her brow and she looks up at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s just focus on you and Charlotte and me, okay? Your memory will start to jog and soon, it’ll be like this never happened. Don’t… don’t you want that?”

“Yes,” she nods but did she only say yes because that’s what she’s supposed to say? 

Of course she wants him. She wants to be home at the house they had renovated and painstakingly decorated, where Charlotte said her first words and took her first steps.

Why does she feel like she’s betraying the other side?

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

She forces herself to keep her voice firm, not to waver. It’s been six weeks since she and Charlotte had been brought home.

She’s quite positive she knows what went down now. She had been working with Radcliffe to study her brain scans and Charlotte’s.

If all else failed, she would rely on science to tell her the truth.

She sits carefully, makes sure she’s positioned correctly, and nods at Grant. He taps the tablet he’s holding and a holoscreen forms in front of her.

It takes a few moments, but the video loads and she sees the inside of a cell at the Fridge. She knows his view is nowhere near hers. A small screen was built into the wall with layers of protective covering over it. It was used by the staff to check on the prisoners without unlocking their cells.

They had been granted five minutes for an alternative use.

He’s pacing the floor, mumbling to himself. She’s not sure if she should speak, to get his attention, but he turns and blinks as his eyes land on the screen.

“Jemma,” he breathes out her name and the hand scratching his chin halts instantly.

“Hello Fitz.”


End file.
